by Liz Talley
But John hadn’t run; he’d walked toward her.
For one year and three months, he’d been living in a near-catatonic state—numb and content to stay that way. Shelby’s news about the pregnancy had been like putting a screwdriver into a light socket. He had snapped awake, disoriented to find himself back in the world he’d shut the door on. He didn’t understand why...only that he’d come back from a hard place. Maybe all bereaved had the same experience—living in a fog until one day something or someone smacked them and they gasped for breath, claiming life over death.
Tonight he’d go to the Candy Cane Festival and take a deep grateful breath, even if he was scared as hell about how Shelby would fit into his life.
As the tractor rolled down the rows cutting the glossy cane to second stubble, John’s mind drifted back to the last time he’d attended the Candy Cane Festival. Rebecca had missed her period and had immediately jumped to the conclusion she was pregnant. They’d been trying for so long and she’d been taking shots that made her crazy emotional. She swung from gleeful to depressed in the span of an hour. He’d been miserable trying to please her...trying to have sex with her after she checked basal temperatures or whatever she did. She’d even paged him from the field, causing the guys to crack jokes and break into renditions of “Afternoon Delight.” And there had been nothing romantic about it—pants down, work up an erection and then think about the Asian porn he’d borrowed from his roommate in college. He’d hated trying to get pregnant with Rebecca because it made her not her normal self.
But that night at the tree lighting, his wife had glowed with happiness, hinting to his family how different things would be the next Christmas, making everyone’s eyes dance with excitement over the thought of John and Rebecca finally becoming parents.
The next festival had been different all right just not in the way Rebecca had hinted.
The following Monday she’d started her period, and they’d spent the next few months with the same routine masquerading as a sex life, and by September Rebecca was dead.
So it would be bittersweet returning to the festival tree lighting with a pregnant Shelby—a virtual stranger to his family.
He closed his mind to the irony and rolled on, cane mowed down like men under assault, falling this way and that in neat little rows. If only life would fall into place as simply as the cane.
He’d learned nothing in life was simple, and having Shelby around, making decisions about the baby and dealing with the fact he wasn’t a ghost of a man—that he had feelings and desires again—would not be easy.
The time he’d thought would never come had arrived. He was moving on without Rebecca.
But whether he could hold on to any expectation of something with the hot blonde living in his guest room remained to be seen.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SHELBY CHANGED HER outfit three times, marveling at how her pants could be loose when she was nearly three months pregnant. She needed to be more cognizant of eating better, resting and practicing yoga or visualization or something that made her stomach relax from the knots twisting inside.
John kissing her hadn’t relaxed the knots. Instead he’d tightened them with a new expectation whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not. His breaking through the barrier they’d established, the unwritten rules to their relationship they’d agreed upon standing in the garden only the day before, had allowed all the need, want and desire she’d shoved to the back of her mind to come forth. She’d never intended on John being anything but her baby’s daddy.
But now she wasn’t so sure about things.
As evidenced by her care in dressing. She pulled on jeans that slimmed and heels that lifted her ass. Selected a shirt that hinted at a little cleavage, and she’d taken special care with her makeup, highlighting her cheekbones, applying two coats of mascara and tracing her brow bones with shimmer. She’d walked into a cloud of Bond No. 9 Bleecker Street after her long hot shower and again fully dressed after she’d decided she’d have to deal with the silk blouse and somewhat loose jeans until she received her things from Seattle.
In other words, she treated tonight like it was special.
After slipping on her heels, she’d walked downstairs, passed the closed door where she could hear the shower still running, sat at the table and waited. It was a good ten minutes before the shower shut off, and then John bumped around up there, no doubt going through the same routine she’d just gone through. Without a bra and lipstick, of course.
Shelby listened to several voice mails from the substitute teacher bank and read a handful of emails from friends in Spain before John arrived with a smoothly shaved jaw and still-damp hair. The smell of Irish Spring tickled her nose as she registered the ridiculous-looking red-green-and-white-striped knitted sweater.
“Nice sweater.”
He set a pile of magazines on the counter and looked down at his sweater. “Yeah, my sister knitted us all one to wear for the lighting every year. Kinda expected.”
Shelby smiled because though he looked a little silly, he wore the somewhat misshapen sweater because he loved his sister. Pretty sweet guy. “It brings out your eyes.”
“How can you tell? The only light is from the vent hood.”
“I’m being positive.”
“So I’ve noticed,” he said, riffling through some papers on the built-in desk beside the door. Bart whined from his bed. “Can’t come this time, Bart.”
The dog’s head sank to the floor.
Finally, John’s eyes met hers, his gaze dropping, skimming the collar of her ice-blue silk blouse with the tiny triangle pattern, the gold belt with snazzy jeweled buckle and the ridiculously high heels she knew would make her feet hurt but wore anyway. After he finished taking her in, his gaze returned to hers. “You look like a rich girl.”
“I am a rich girl, but that’s not all there is to me.”
“No, it’s not, but you look like you’re trying to make a statement.”
Shelby unbuttoned the third button. “Only for you.”
Awareness flared in the depths of his eyes. “You are something else, Shelby Mackey.”
She didn’t say anything because she was afraid he might say exactly what that was. Something was rather broad. Besides he’d used the same descriptor on Birdie days before.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he said.
Her stomach took a nosedive. He regretted it. Of course he did. So why was he studying her lips like they were chocolate and he had PMS? “Maybe not. But you did.”
Her words bounced and stuck. He moved back, tearing his gaze from her. “I should have listened to common sense. Nothing about going there again is a good idea. Sex is not what we need.”
The hell you say.
“Presumptuous, aren’t you?” She kept her tone light.
“Guess I’ve presumed a lot lately, but I wasn’t talking about you. My words were at myself. Last time I listened to the voice below my belt and not the one in my head, we fell into a little trouble.”
“You have a voice below your belt? Does your doctor know about this?” she teased.
He gave her an exasperated look.
“I know what you mean, John, but I wish you wouldn’t regret the kiss. You have to stop beating up on yourself for feeling something.”
“Maybe so,” he said.
“You know what?” Shelby interrupted. “How about we let go of the guilt for now?”
He nodded slowly. “Maybe so.”
“You like the word maybe, huh?” she said, picking up her purse, trying to move him from where he stood, figuratively and literally. More and more she realized John had spent a year on hold—no emotions, no laughter, no teasing, no wanting. That night in September, whether he knew it or not, he had moved back into the land of the living. But knowing and doing were two different things. Shelby
knew firsthand. Her first love had turned out to be a creep, and her second had been in love with another woman. Like a dog with a bone, she’d held on, hoping she could force something meant to be.
But John clung to something that could never be.
Sometimes it was hard to let go and be moved. Staying put was instinctual, but fighting against the push and pull of change, unwilling to believe you have no control, was what everyone did. Eventually, destiny and fate would have their way.
Best thing to do was stop worrying about the destination and enjoy the journey. Or that’s what she told herself daily.
John got her message about leaving and picked up his keys and followed her out the back door.
“I’ll drive,” she said, indicating the car she’d leased sitting in his drive.
“Something wrong with my truck?”
“No, but I need to get gas.” Shelby dug her keys out of her bag and dangled them. “Or you could drive?”
“A car?”
“Oh, real men don’t drive cars?”
“I can drive the hell out of a car, but I don’t want the men in town thinking I’ve gone soft.”
“Jeez, the machismo is thick around here,” she said, glad he’d relaxed into someone easier to spend the evening with. Maybe he’d stop looking at her like a ticking bomb.
“We take our manhood seriously,” he said, grabbing the keys.
Ten minutes later, after a detour for gas at The Shortstop, they pulled into the bank parking lot.
“We’re a little late so no good spots left. I spent too much time in the fields,” he said, taking her elbow when she nearly tripped stepping onto the curb. He looked down at her heels, his mouth indicating disapproval, but then something flickered in his eyes, a sort of acceptance of her frivolity or maybe even an appreciation of her attempt to please him. Yeah, Christian Louboutin knew what a man liked.
“You spent too much time primping,” she teased.
His green eyes reflected mock outrage. “I ran out of hot water because someone was in the shower for three days.”
“I had to shave my legs.”
A flare of sexual awareness struck in the glow of Christmas lights strung around the Cut-N-Curl even though there was nothing really sexy about shaving legs. Well, unless it was in a porno—somehow those random hygiene procedures became opportunity for a three-way in the shower. But still, desire exploded right there in the middle of downtown Magnolia Bend.
John’s eyes moved back down to Shelby’s lips, and she licked them in response. Her senses did that woo-woo thing where everything zoomed in on the man in front of her and how he made an ugly sweater stretched across those broad shoulders look fetching. Maybe she could reach up and straighten his neckline. But as she lifted her hand, she realized it wasn’t crooked, just knitted that way. John’s hand on her arm, softened as he slid it up to—
A couple exited the Stitch-and-Thyme, destroying the electric pulses that had nothing to do with Christmas decorations.
“We should go before my family starts texting me,” John said, gesturing toward the pavilion at the end of Main Street. Magnolia Bend had been built around two streets—Main Street and Front Street. In between the two sat a string of old businesses, including an ancient general store, a Western Auto straight out of the 1950s, a jewelry store, hair salon, resale shop and a small art gallery. Outside of each business was a table with refreshments. Passersby tugged children down the main drag and carolers clumped on street corners, heralding the season the town would launch with the lighting of the Christmas tree.
As they walked toward the small park, people stared. A few stopped to greet John, taking in Shelby with interest, smiling politely when he introduced her. It took them a lot longer than it should to reach where his family stood because John seemed to know everyone.
“Shelby,” Fancy said, patting an older woman on the shoulder before breaking away and taking Shelby’s hand. “You look precious. I love your hair down like that with those bouncy curls. How do you get them?”
“Um, curling iron,” Shelby said, pasting on a smile as Fancy moved her toward the older woman.
“Of course,” Fancy crowed, nodding like a bobblehead. “I want you to meet Hilda Brunet, she’s a councilwoman and my first cousin.”
The older woman wearing a St. John sweater and Alexander McQueen flats regarded Fancy with tolerant affection...and Shelby with suspicion.
“So you’re Shelby,” the woman said, inclining a quite regal mane of silver, diamonds flashing at her ears. She swept Shelby with a discerning glance, lingering on her shoes. Shelby would bet her nonexistent paycheck the woman recognized Louboutin.
“Guilty,” Shelby said, extending her hand, wincing at the older woman’s bruising handshake.
Reverend Beauchamp talked to an older man she thought was Uncle Carney, but couldn’t be sure because they stood in the shadows. A priest talked to John’s oldest brother and his wife while their boys frolicked, playing tag or football or something little boys did when they were bored and a plot of grass was available. Abigail and Birdie stood nearby—Abigail talked to a woman wearing a costume and Birdie tapped on her phone. Big happy family moment.
“So, John has skipped dating and gone straight to shacking up,” Hilda said.
“Shacking up?” Shelby asked.
“Yes, I know it’s not as frowned upon these days, but his father is a man of God.”
Shelby dropped the woman’s cold hand and looked at Fancy, who’d turned the color of a radish. “What does that have to do with my staying in his spare room?”
Hilda fake-chuckled, but her eyes remained granite chips. “Not a thing other than people do talk. Such a shame to have aspersions cast on the Beauchamp family for no good reason.”
“Well, do you have a spare bedroom?” Shelby asked, unwilling to let the judgmental councilwoman make her look like a freaking whore because she stayed at Breezy Hill. Sure, she had a few fantasies about the man, but she hadn’t straddled him...yet.
“I beg your pardon,” Hilda said, her condescending attitude deflating a bit.
“I can stay with you if you have room,” Shelby said with a smile. “Unless you’re afraid of people talking? I don’t swing that way, but you might not want people to asperse.”
Fancy clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes the size of Texas. Finally, a laugh escaped. “See, Hildy, I told you you’d love her. She dresses and acts just like you.”
Hilda snorted. “Yeah, she’s pretty good.”
Weird. Cousin Hildy obviously played the role of ball-busting family matriarch who demanded feistiness from an, uh...well, hell, Shelby didn’t know who she was to the family. At present it was soon-to-be mother of a Beauchamp. Not that any of them knew.
“Thank you,” Shelby said, “I think.”
Hilda Brunet gave her a shark smile. “Oh, honey, it’s definitely a compliment. We Beauchamps don’t suffer our men pairing off with weak women. Dilutes the gene pool.”
Shelby nearly choked, but was saved from further awkwardness by John’s father. “Evening, Shelby. Nice of you to come with John to the lighting.”
“I appreciate the invitation. I haven’t seen much of the town. Very pretty when dressed up for the holidays.”
“Isn’t it?” The man regarded the town sparkling before him. “Nothing like a small town Christmas.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Are you staying through Christmas, dear?” Fancy asked, casting an indecipherable glance to her husband, making Shelby wonder about Hilda’s earlier words. John’s father was a pastor. Did they disapprove of her staying with John?
“Depends,” Shelby replied, looking over at John. “I need to make some decisions about my career.”
“Matt, come over here and talk to Miss Mackey about teaching jobs,” Hilda
drawled, reminding Shelby of Olympia Dukakis’s role in Steel Magnolias. Bored droll Empress of the town.
Matt excused himself from speaking to Father Whoever He Was and stepped over. “A teaching job?”
“Shelby’s a teacher in...in...I can’t remember what you told me,” Reverend Beauchamp said.
“Math,” John finished.
“Oh, I must have missed that at Thanksgiving dinner,” Matt said. “So you’re a secondary teacher?”
Shelby nodded. “I’ve taught everything but Calculus.”
A smile appeared on the man’s rather severe features. “This is too good to be true.”
Shelby must have looked confused.
“Our Algebra I teacher had surgery earlier this month and suffered complications. She had planned to be back in the classroom after Thanksgiving, but can’t come back until after Christmas break. You’d be helping us out if you’d come sub.”
“Oh,” Shelby said, taken aback by the opportunity tossed in her lap. “I wasn’t expecting to find something so soon.”
Matt frowned. “So you’re not looking for a position?”
“I am,” she rectified, something inside her waffling over making her stay so permanent. She had moved in with John, telling herself she could leave within a few weeks if it didn’t work out. Taking a job in Magnolia Bend would make it a bit harder to bail. But teaching would give her something to occupy her time, something to give her purpose.
“It’s not permanent. Much depends on Mrs. Fox’s recovery. You can work as a substitute for the next month and perhaps the following one. At the very least, subbing would give you time to look around for a permanent position within our district.”
John glanced at her, awaiting her answer.
“Sounds perfect,” Shelby said with a little shrug, agreeing before anything inside her could toss up a reason not to help John’s brother. Since finding out she was pregnant, she’d felt lost. Snatching at the opportunity to stay with John and teach in Magnolia Bend felt a little desperate, a little unreasonable, but at the same time it felt meant to be. Maybe she’d been brought to this exact place and time for a larger purpose. Or maybe she wanted to believe that in order to justify her rash decisions.
